Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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Shirtless Sam was too much. Shirtless Sam offering no subtlety of how big a gun he packed? Potentially catastrophic. Despite my mind not wanting to go there, other parts of me pulsed with interest.
If he wasn't so close, I would've assumed his torso was air-brushed. Except for a few fine hairs below his navel, his tanned skin was bare. He was a visual overload of muscles, all broad, bulging pecs, lumps upon lumps of abs, and sculpted arms with veins trailing down them. His waist held a slight inward curve, but he was rigid otherwise. Not a pinch of fat, annoyingly.
My smile was as shaky as the ground during a Texas twister. Goosebumps sprung up all over my skin from his proximity. The smell of paint aside, his soap and laundry detergent scent was fresh and clean.
I hadn't seen a guy's bare torso since Nate's, sparking dormant parts of my body to life. My heart pounded, and warmth gathered in my belly. Pulsing beats nestled between my legs, filling my barren lady bits with need. Thank fuck his hose water was cold. Sparks ignited where his fingers trailed up my back and swept over my cheek. I was not prepared for the gentle caress of those long, thick fingers.
The elephant dick-sized erection he sported needed shrinkage, so I delivered a much-needed retaliation blast to his face. It backfired when trickles of clear streams dribbled down his chest and abs. I lost count after eight and a half. Two halves. Nine? Fuck, I was thankful he soaked me with water before my vagina drooled and my palms sweated.
Sam wrapped me up in a towel. Kinda. He threw it in my face. I blotted my exposed skin dry, then retrieved my extra clothes bag from my truck. A loose T-shirt and leggings were better than my beach volleyball impression bra and underwear. His house though? "It's smaller than I expected," I blurted out, scanning the modestly large interior.
Grumbles rang out behind me. Sam dragged his towel over his face, muffling his cryptic, curse-included phrases with an empty, 'Don't make me prove you wrong.'
"As good as a bruised ego looks on you, I didn't mean that." Stepping into a large family room, the two-story ceiling and wall of windows flooded light around us. An open-access kitchen peeked around a corner. "Your house is nice. Homely."
My eyebrows lifted at two massive televisions hung over a stone fireplace. "Don't tell me you get off watching yourself play from different angles."
"That's the mirror above the bed," he teased, stepping past me. Heat seared my cheeks at what he meant. With a look over his shoulder, his smirk was visible from satellite level. "You should see your face."
Not having an answer, for once, I focused on wiping myself dry.
"Do you still need a shower?" His eyes shifted to a closed door in the hallway.
"Unlike you." I yanked my bun free, then scrubbed my hair drier. "I'm clean."
Thankfully, Sam grabbed a T-shirt and slipped it over his head. He paused behind a wide kitchen island, watching me recoil my bun. "Are you hungry, or should we go to the gym?"
